


A dangerous addiction

by Guinevere81



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Hurt Ianto Jones, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guinevere81/pseuds/Guinevere81
Summary: Jack has shown Ianto that he cares when he is hurt... that may turn into something not entirely healthy as Ianto finds that there is a way to get his boss's attention.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	1. First meeting

A story someone else wrote inspired me to get back to writing fanfiction and this is the result... 

There are certain things it is not healthy to get addicted to. Ianto knew this with a certainty that did not leave much room for doubt. His father had descended the slippery slope from keen drinker via semi functioning alcoholic to constantly inebriated, useless drunk. Ianto himself knows that if he allows the clock to inch past nine in the morning without a decent cup of coffee he is in for a withdrawal headache that borders on migraine in intensity. Thus he should have been able to identify the signs when the cravings first started. He should have but he had been so distracted by the need to help Lisa that the first symptoms had not really registered. 

The excitement he had felt in those heedy moments in the warehouse had been exhilarating. They had joked and laughed as they had rather clumsily caught their new prehistoric pet and for a second Ianto had relaxed, revelling in Harkness’ banter and the electric charge as their eyes met, only inches apart. 

Any relief he had felt at the normal easy human interaction with someone so far removed from the endless struggle to keep Lisa alive and at least at times lucid was gone by the time he got back to the flat, dragging two stolen car batteries along to help boost the power supply to the life support. 

He hated himself for the flicker of excitement he felt when the Captain opened the door to him the next day and he was welcomed into Torchwood three. Compared to Torchwood London it should have been a disappointment. It was wet and grimy and cluttered in a way that seemed incompatible with the safe storage of alien artifacts, yet the warmth of Harkness’ smile as he took Ianto on the grand tour of the premises amply made up for it. 

The promise of a reliable power supply for Lisa’s life support would have been enough to make Ianto the most diligent of employees but he found that as the day wore on there were other reasons to appreciate his new job. He’d held numerous temporary job titles while at Torchwood one, trainee field agent had gained him the most kudos among his colleagues, PA to Yvonne Hartman was certainly the longest running one but somehow that didn’t end up in his files and he figured that the lie that finally went on record, if Jack Harkness was to be believed, was fairly suitable. He’d never been a junior researcher, but he’d had a keen interest in the torchwood archives and as much as Yvonne had dragged him along on all of her madcap ventures, he had honestly been most comfortable when tucked away in his office exploring the depths of the torchwood one archive. Hence being told that he would serve as the administrator and archivist of Torchwood three, should he decide to accept the job offer was enough to cause it’s own frisson of excitement in Ianto’s mind and he had to remind himself that this was only temporary. Once Lisa was cured they would go away together, start over someplace new. This was only a means to an end. 

The exhilaration lasted only for a few hours before he was dragged by Jack, full of himself, Harkness into a sterile room that apparently doubled as an autopsy bay and a medical suite. Ianto had not been keen on doctors even before the fall of Torchwood One. Being exposed first to the sterile conversion units of the cybermen, and then to the intrusive prodding of the UNIT doctors and psychiatrists after the battle was over, had not helped matters. A cursory introduction to a snipy medic by the name of Owen Harper did nothing to make the space feel less threatening.   
Right, Jacket and shirt off.’ Owen ordered and Ianto simply stared at him in bewilderment. 

‘I’m sorry?’ He stared at the medic but did not move. 

‘The medical exam is compulsory if you want the job. It’s nothing too intrusive, just a normal physical and a quick scan.’ Owen explained and Ianto could feel his heart speed up and his palms go slightly sticky with sweat. 

Scouring his brain for suitable excuses to explain the state of his right wrist he started to unbutton his shirt. Lisa had grabbed him the other day and since the battle she didn’t know her own strength. Ianto wanted to think that she hadn’t meant to hurt him. She had apologised when she had seen the damage she had done, but it had taken quite some yelling on Ianto’s part to get her to relinquish her grip and there had been a vacancy in her eyes when she had grabbed him and hissed that he was being too slow that was entirely unlike the Lisa he knew. 

Now he steeled himself as he dropped his jacket over the metal table and slipped off his shirt. He had wrapped his wrist tightly to try to get the swelling down but the skin below the bandage was puffy and the bruise was peeking out over the side of his hand. 

‘What happened here?’ Owen asked prodding gently. 

‘An altercation with a weevil.’ Ianto grinned over at Harkness who returned the look quizzically. 

‘You didn’t say it had hurt you.’ He commented with a frown and descended the steps to join Ianto and the medic who was now carefully unwrapping the bandage. 

‘I didn’t want to appear like I was complaining. It’s nothing really.’ Ianto tried. 

‘I wouldn’t call this nothing.’ Owen shook his head as he inspected the dark bruising around Ianto’s wrist. The outline of Lisa’s fingers were clearly defined where they had wrapped around him and refused to let go. 

‘Can you do this?’ Owen moved his own wrist up and down to illustrate and Ianto forced himself to attempt to copy the movement without giving voice to the fact that the movement sent spikes of pain up his arm. 

‘Hm.’ Owen frowned. ‘And now like this?’ he twisted his hand sideways and watched as Ianto tried to copy the movement but had to give up halfway to cradle his now throbbing wrist. 

‘It’s probably only sprained but please put your hand here and we’ll get a proper scan’ Owen ordered indicating a glass surface.   
‘What do you mean, what’s that going to do to me?’ Ianto hissed holding his hand as far away from the surface as possible. 

Harkness came up behind him and rested a hand on his naked shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The touch was gentle as the man stroked his skin, the palm cupping first the shoulder joint and then the bicep before carefully tracing the underside of Ianto’s lower arm until he was cradling his wrist. The movement was simultaneously clinical and incredibly intimate and Ianto felt his stomach erupt in a flurry of butterflies 

‘It is a physical scanner, it will tell us any damage that has been done to you and since you’re clearly not prone to tell us when you’ve been hurt it may be best that we make a regular scan a planned event so please place your hand on the scanner if you want this job.’ Captain Harkness argued and Ianto had little choice. He held his breath as he placed his palm on the scanner. The screen above their head lit up with an image of a body with bright red spots flashing on his right wrist and left temple and rather disconcertingly on his nose.

‘Blimey… I’m going to have to keep an eye on you. He’s got a fractured trapezius and a relatively minor head wound and a moderate case of an allergic reaction. I don’t think we need to worry about that last one but who the fuck walks into work concussed and with a broken wrist?’ Owen asks and Ianto flinches as he touches the still painful cut on the side of his head. 

‘I really wanted this job. I didn’t want to lose it because my hand hurt or because i had a headache. I’ll be fine.’ Ianto explained.

‘You will be fine but I will put a cast on that wrist of yours for a few weeks and you will take it very easy for the next few days. Don’t let his nibs push you too hard and especially don’t let him push you into any horizontal acrobatics.’ Owen orders and Ianto’s ears turn scarlet at the thought. 

Harkness’ hand is once again cradling his wrist and if Ianto only turned his hand over they might be holding hands. A wave of guilt washed over him at the fact that he enjoys this man’s touch so much. You’re doing this for Lisa, don’t ever forget that he reminds himself as the thumb caresses his swollen wrist with the softest of touches. 

‘Oi, stop fondling my patient’ Owen growls.

‘I’m only your patient because you forced me to be’ Ianto retorts and a grin erupts on Harkness’ face. 

‘Yes, well in some respects you need forcing it seems.’ The medic grumbles ‘ But only in some respects mind you.’ Owen throws a grim look toward the Captain and suddenly the hand holding his wrist disappears. It is as though the air around him has suddenly gone colder and Ianto longs to reach out and stop him from leaving. But his new boss is already bounding up the stairs throwing an energetic ‘See me in my office when you’re done here.’ over his shoulder as he goes.


	2. Myfanwy

Ianto activates the door that locks Myfanwy in. For the first few weeks, they had tried to feed her in her nest without locking her in but it had resulted in bits of pork, lamb, and fish entrails being dragged through the hub and dropped at random on unsuspecting members of the team. Since then they had installed a sliding door that remained firmly closed until she had finished her meal and Ianto had retrieved any leftovers.

She’s skittish today. Ianto can tell that his new pet is in a terrible mood as soon as he gets to the office in the morning. She’s cawing and screeching, and he’s pretty sure that the random dive that results in toppling Tosh’s worksheets is entirely intentional. He was unable to let her out for a flight over the weekend and she has grown accustomed to being allowed out now and again. He had to go to London to meet a dealer who had been able to sell him an unprecedented stock of painkillers for Lisa. The other’s are used to Ianto dealing with the needs of the pets and inmates in the Hub since he arrived, so he hadn’t been able to ask anyone else to do it for him. Nothing is allowed to draw attention to him or make them question why he can’t do his job properly

He approaches the skittish and grouchy pteranodon with a pail of pork mince and grain that he hopes she will enjoy enough to forget about being cooped up for the weekend. 

He draws a sigh of relief when she digs her beak into the food and pets her flank gently. 

‘Mae’n ddrwg gen i.’ he apologised. ‘Fe wnaf yn well.’ he promises and turns to go. 

A slight cry is all the warning he gets before the beak catches him in the armpit and pitches him forward. 

‘Oi, I said I was sorry.’ he grumbles as he picks himself off the ground. He’s made it onto his knees when there is a shriek and Myfanwy flaps her wings angrily. The nest suddenly feels very, very cramped. 

‘Ymdawelwch… ymdawelwch gariad’ he reaches out to sooth her but the flapping continues and a wayward wing slaps him hard across the back and head, slamming him against the side of the nest. He winces and covers his head with his arms as Myfanwy keeps flapping. She isn’t aiming to hurt him, just expressing her displeasure, but she is strong and every time her angry flapping strikes or scratches him it’s like being pummeled by a giant windscreen wiper. He digs in his inside pocket for the chocolate he would normally give her as a treat once she has finished. 

‘Here, take it, go girl…’ he yelps and throws the bar as far away from himself as he can manage from his crouched position on the floor. The flapping subsides and, a now entirely placated, Myfanwy makes contented cooing noises from the other side of the nest. Ianto slowly scrambles to his feet, backing away until he is able to slam the button that opens the door to the nest.

Once out on the gangway and safely away from their prehistoric pet he leans heavily against the railing trying to calm his breathing and regain his bearings. His suit is torn and when he wipes his hands across his face the left one comes away bloody. Damn, he must be a mess and he hasn’t brought a spare suit to work. 

He limps down the staircase leaning heavily against the railing hoping to be able to get himself up to the tourist office where at least he has a spare shirt. 

He doesn’t even make it down to the bottom floor before he is faced by a bemused Susie. ‘What’s happened to you? You look like you’ve gone four rounds with a weevil.’ She asks, cocking her head and twirling a pen between her fingers. 

‘Myfanwy was a bit skittish today. I got in the way. It’s not too bad.’ He tries to ignore her but she swivels her chair around and bellows up toward Jack’s office. 

‘I told you that pest of yours was more bird of prey than guard dog Jack. Look what he’s done to Jeeves.’ 

‘Myfanwy’s a girl.’ Ianto snaps under his breath, trying to push past her. 

‘She’s a pteranodon and she’s smarter than she looks.’ Jack exits his office and then stops frozen for a second staring down at them. Then he leaps down the steps two at a time bounding down to Ianto who wants nothing more than to shrink through the floor. Escaping to the tourist office is looking less and less likely by the second. 

‘What happened?’ Jack steps closer and the concern in his voice is palpable. 

‘I spooked her and she threw a bit of a tantrum. She calmed down when she got a bar of chocolate.’

‘You’re bleeding.’ Jack points out, reaching out to brush careful fingers across Ianto’s cheek where Myfanwy has cut him. 

Ianto’s already rather wobbly knees turn to putty as Jack’s fingers continue on their path across his skin coming around to cradle his neck as he crowds his space in a rather unprofessional manner

Ianto sways on the spot and makes a noise in between a whimper and a groan that could be a reaction to the smell of Jack so close to him with his bloody fifty-first century pheromones or could be down to the fact that Jack’s fingers have found a particularly tender lump on the back of his head. 

‘You need to sit down.’ Jack orders as he steers Ianto toward the sofa. ‘Do I need to call Owen? How bad is it?’

‘No harm done but I do need to sort out a change of clothes.’ Ianto tries to assure, but Jack’s firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him down to sit, makes an unexpected pain flare across his shoulder blades and he groans involuntarily. He slumps awkwardly on the sofa reaching up to rub his sore shoulder under the damaged suit.

‘Susie, can you get me the first aid kit, and a couple of towels?’ Jack reached up to run a gentle hand through Ianto’s hair. ‘If you’re sure nothing is broken I’ll help you get cleaned up and drive you home. You look like someone ran you over with a lawnmower. The hand settles against the back of his neck again and Ianto is only half aware of Susie grumbling about being made to do menial chores when that is now supposed to be Ianto’s job. 

Once in possession of a first aid kit that looks like it may be a relic of WWI and a couple of threadbare towels Jack slowly guides him down to the showers and gets him sat down on one of the benches. It should be embarrassing but Jack's hands are so gentle when they slowly unbutton Ianto’s shirt and his eyes stay firmly focused on the task at hand. It’s hypnotising to watch someone else slowly and carefully undress him. This hasn’t happened outside of a sexual situation since he was a little boy and he’s torn between finding the experience awkward, arousing, or oddly soothing. 

Soon Ianto finds himself sat on the side of a bench in just his boxers. ‘Well, you’re a bit banged up but I think we can patch you up once we get you clean. I can’t quite decide if the stuff in your hair is sausage meat or feces.’

Ianto runs a hand through his hair and brings his fingers down to sniff the sticky residue that he’s left with. ‘Probably a bit of both.’ He finally admits. ‘I guess the suit is a write-off?’ He looks forlornly over at the torn and stained remains of his second-best suit draped across the next bench over. 

‘You can expense a new one.’ Jack offers and Ianto can’t help but wonder just how far he can stretch that offer. He can probably convince Jack to pick up the tab for a Paul Smith or Hugo Boss if it makes his arse look really good and he plies Jack with his best coffee beans for a few days beforehand, but bespoke Savile Row is definitely out. 

‘Can you stand or should I join you.’ Jack asks, handing him a towel, and for a moment Ianto just stares at him. All thoughts of new suits are wiped out as an image of Jack, fully clothed but soaked to the bone, standing in a shower with his shirt plastered to his chest floats unbidden before his eyes. 

‘I’m fine.’ Ianto chokes out, far too fast and stands up only to find that the world seems to swim before his eyes and his knees momentarily fold underneath him. 

‘Really?’ Jack’s supportive arm around his back and the smirk on his face is the first truly seductive thing that he’s expressed since this whole thing unfolded and Ianto has a sneaky suspicion it has been encouraged by his flaming cheeks and vain attempt to hide the effect his boss is having on him behind the towel. 

‘Really!’ It is more of a squeak than a firm assertion but it will have to do. Ianto gets himself into the shower under his own steam but Jack stays just outside, obviously keeping an eye on him. If he doesn’t get Lisa out of here very quickly he is going to be in a great deal of trouble. 

He is pleased with the level of self-control he has managed to produce when he exits the shower. 

Jack is sat on one of the benches flicking through information on his phone but he produces a lascivious grin when Ianto exits with a towel tightly wrapped around his waist. 

Before Ianto gets dressed Jack carefully disinfect and put steristrips across the cut on Ianto’s cheek and rub aloe vera cream into his bruised shoulder and back. He hands Ianto two paracetamol and a glass of water before presenting a t-shirt and a pair of well-worn sweatpants.

‘Thanks.’ Ianto smiles ‘Your nursing skills are better than Owen’s.’

‘I’ve lived through eight different wars. It’s hard not to pick up a thing or two.’ 

Ianto nods. He remembers the fall of Torchwood one and shudders slightly. He has had to do a fair bit of nursing himself since then and he worries that if he lets Jack drive him home Lisa will be alone for the rest of the day. He’ll have to come back later in the evening, slip in through the carpark entrance and claim he needed to pick something up if anyone notices him and asks. 

Allowing Jack to drive him home for a few hours of rest is an indulgence but it is so hard to resist. His shoulder aches as does his head and he really ought to get some ice on his left hip so he’s not still limping when he sees Owen tomorrow. He doesn’t want any more prying medical examinations. As much as he enjoys Jack’s gentle ministrations the intruding questions of their medic risks exposing things that he really need to stay hidden. 

So Ianto dresses in what he suspects is Jack’s sleepwear and allows himself to be led to the SUV and driven home. Jack even comes in and makes them both a cup of tea and when he leaves it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Even the nervous pain in the back of his mind that never seems to go away has eased a bit and Ianto falls asleep on his sofa vaguely thinking that accidental injuries really are not all that bad.


	3. Washing up

Washing up  
Ianto will admit that his tasks at Torchwood three are often a lot less glamorous than the job he had held at Torchwood one and doing the washing up after the whole team is not his favourite part of it. Today he is particularly grumpy about it because Owen had dumped a batch of used mugs and glasses in the pantry with a comment about it being time Ianto made himself useful before blithely buggering off out of the hub. 

It could be argued that his anger is making him use rather more force than is advisable as he uses the sponge to scrub away the grime and that it is entirely his own fault when the wine glass cracks in his hand and his vigorous scrubbing embeds it painfully into his hand. 

‘Fuck.’ He curses as the pain slices through his hand and the washing up water suddenly turns pink with blood. Instinct makes him pull his hand out and wrap a towel around it before he has really even inspected the injury. 

He’s been shot and beaten to a pulp in the course of his work for Torchwood but the sudden pain of slicing his hand open still leaves him lightheaded and he stumbles back sliding down the wall of the pantry where he sits clutching his hand and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. It’s probably not as bad as it felt like. 

After a couple of minutes of deep breathing and clasping an increasingly bloody towel to his chest he summons the courage to unwrap it and inspect the damage. 

There is a deep slice in the soft tissue on the side of his right hand. He experimentally flexes his fingers and is relieved to find that they all seem to work fine but the blood flows freely down his wrist and he quickly wraps it all up again, applying pressure as best he can. 

He’s relieved that he only feels a little light-headed when he pushes himself up to stand and stumbles up the stairs to Jack’s office. 

He knocks tentatively before opening ‘Jack I think I might have…’ he has no time to finish the sentence because Jack is out of his chair and rushing across the floor to guide Ianto to sit down the second he sees the bloody towel. 

‘What happened? Here sit down. Let me see.’ Jack urges him into a seat and carefully unwraps the towel. 

‘A glass broke as I was washing up.’ Ianto explains and winces as Jack removes the towel and carefully inspects the injury. 

‘That’s going to need stitches. Do you want me to call Owen or do you prefer A&E?’ Jack asks knowing that Ianto hasn’t exactly taken to their medic. 

‘Can’t you do it?’ Ianto pleads and is rewarded with Jack’s gentle fingers brushing across his temple. 

‘I can, but my stitches will be clumsy and Owen will be mad tomorrow. Is it really worth it? If you let me call Owen I promise to stay and hold your hand and keep him on his best behaviour.’

Ianto nods and Jack wraps his injured hand up in the towel again 

Ianto is only dimly aware of Jack arguing with Owen about whether or not caring for minor household injuries is part of his duties, but after about five minutes of bickering Jack settles down beside him on the couch cradling his injured hand in his palm and leaning Ianto’s head against his shoulder. If he wasn’t lightheaded and in pain he would probably find it all rather awkward but when Jack’s arm wraps around his back and leans him against a solid broad chest it is impossible not to succumb. Ianto rests his head on Jack’s shoulder and despite the pain he is almost asleep by the time Owen bustles through the door. 

Jack tries to stay true to his promise and comes down to the medical bay taking Ianto’s uninjured hand in his as Owen gets the sutures ready. However there is no way that Ianto will let Owen see him needing his hand holding when having stitches so he pulls his hand away and balls it up in a tight fist. Rather wonderfully Jack seems to understand and he comes in close behind Ianto providing support behind his back and placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. It serves the same purpose as the hand holding without the embarrassing connotations and Ianto has to admit that he leans in a bit, enjoying the way that Jack supports him from behind. 

Taking comfort from Jack’s solid presence and cheerful demeanor is an irresistible temptation. Ianto has felt so alone since the fall of Torchwood one. Lisa relies on him for support rather than the other way around and everyone else is gone. He can’t quite admit it to himself but he needed this kind of solid support. Someone to lean against if only for a few moments. He can barely even feel the stitches going in. All he feels is Jack’s strong chest and gentle hand as it rubs his shoulder. This is far too addictive.


End file.
